


Bleed-Through

by Salmon_Pink



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 11:34:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salmon_Pink/pseuds/Salmon_Pink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their first time together, and yet they know exactly where to touch. It's almost like they've been together before, in some other reality...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bleed-Through

**Author's Note:**

> Set after the DCnU Teen Titans #09. Written for the [DCnU Meme](http://dcu-memes.livejournal.com/3414.html), [prompt](http://dcu-memes.livejournal.com/3414.html?thread=1087574#t1087574) "it's the first time they've touched like this, so why does it feel so familiar?".

It feels right, but in a way that feels wrong. 

Tim can’t explain it, and that bothers him on a lot of levels - Tim doesn’t like things that can’t be explained with science and logic.

The point is that it feels good, _so_ good, but there’s something nagging at the back of Tim’s mind. And there’s only one thing Tim trusts more than science and logic, and that’s his instincts.

But right now, his instincts are going crazy, like he’s being pulled in a dozen different directions. It’s making it hard to keep his thoughts together. But that could just be Superboy, or specifically Superboy’s tongue, which is inside the curve of Tim’s ear. He hears himself gasp, heat rushing through him, and he didn’t actually know his ears were that sensitive but it’s almost as if Superboy went straight for them.

Almost as if Superboy knows him, knows how to touch him, and that’s the thing, the problem that’s trying to make itself known at the back of Tim’s mind, however faintly over the haze of hormones. Because Tim feels it too, feels like his body, like his _instincts_ are telling him where to touch.

And that can’t be right, because this is the first time he’s been with Superboy like this, pinned on the ground by heat and Superboy’s weight. 

In all honesty, this is the first time he’s been with _anybody_ like this.

But somehow he _knows_ to rake his fingernails roughly up the back of Superboy’s neck, to scratch at his hairline. Somehow he _knows_ it will make Superboy groan, just like that, and the sound of it vibrates down into Tim’s ear, feels like it’s rattling through his mind, and Tim’s hips buck up against the warm body above him.

Superboy grunts, buries his face against the curve of Tim’s neck, and this is moving too fast, much too fast, but Tim doesn’t even care. And that’s wrong too, because this is exactly the sort of thing Tim _does_ care about, planning and preparation and taking things slow. 

Tim cares about caution, so he has no idea why he’s letting Superboy, who’s still an unknown quantity, who’s actively tried to hurt Tim and his team in the not-so-distant past, who’s only a provisional member of the Titans out of necessity, press him into the ground and grind their still-clothed hips together.

But somehow his legs are fanning even further apart, and Tim’s hair is catching against the ground as he arches up against the sensation.

He wants this so bad it makes his chest ache.

And he can’t help but think that maybe Superboy feels it too. Maybe he feels that need, that craving, as if this is what they’re supposed to do. As if they should have been doing this from the moment they met, and it’s getting more and more difficult to cling to any semblance of logic.

Superboy’s hands on him are desperate, clawing at him through Kevlar and spandex, and it should make Tim feel trapped, but it only makes him whine, high in his throat. Hips trying to rock up against all that muscle and heat, and his own hands are just as desperate. They move lower, squeeze the round flesh of Superboy’s ass, and Superboy curses, long and loud.

He hasn’t heard Superboy swear before. The thought strikes him at the same time he realises it still somehow sounds familiar.

And that’s it, that’s the thought that’s been trying to reach him. It’s all _familiar_ , and he knows that’s impossible, but he can’t deny it. 

He knows squeezing Superboy’s ass again will only make his thrusts harder, more ragged, even before he does it. He knows if he peppers kisses across Superboy’s face, across his jaw, that Superboy will make soft, helpless little noises. He knows if he scrapes his teeth along the side of Superboy’s neck, that he’ll be rewarded with a low growl.

He _knows_ and it terrifies him and he can’t stop. 

It’s like he can think clearly now, like he can _only_ think clearly when Superboy’s touching him like this, when he’s letting his body and its needs and its memories speak louder than his mind.

It’s like they’ve been together like this before, more times than Tim can count, in another time, another place, and his head is spinning, he’s sweating and shaking and his body is still crying out for more.

He whimpers, feeling lost and yet anchored, like Superboy is the only thing in the world that matters, like his touch is the only thing that’s _real_. Drowning in it, in the sensation, closer and closer to the edge, but it’s okay, because Superboy is there, Superboy will catch him.

“I love you,” Tim whispers, and he doesn’t know where the words come from but he’s certain he’s felt them on his lips before. Certain he’s said them for the boy above him, for Superboy, and there’s another word on the tip of his tongue, a name, but he can’t quite reach it.

The noise Superboy makes is almost like a sob, and he presses their mouths together fiercely, as if he’ll never get enough of touching Tim, of kissing him. He swallows down the name Tim can’t quite remember, but that’s okay, because he’s here, they’re together, they won’t be parted again.

And then it’s friction and heat and Tim’s so close, so close. And when Superboy stills above him, back bowed and eyes squeezed shut, Tim watches him avidly, watches his completion, heart pounding so loud he almost misses it when Superboy hisses, “ _Tim_!”

Tim falls over the edge with his name burning his ears.

It takes several minutes before the fog in Tim’s head starts to shift, before he can gather his thoughts. Superboy is lying beside him, staring up at the sky, eyes dazed.

“What did you call me?” Tim asks, and he means the words as simple curiosity, but the moment he says them it’s as if his gut freezes, panic setting in. He’s never told Superboy his name, there’s no reason for him to know it.

Superboy turns his head and stares blankly at him for a long moment, before his eyes start to clear into something like defensive anger. “I didn’t call you anything,” he snaps.

He’s not lying, and Tim lets himself breathe again. He watches as Superboy scrambles up, brushing himself off irritably, and has no idea why he even said that. 

Of _course_ Superboy didn’t call him by his name. 

He doesn’t know what he was thinking. Literally - he’s sure there was something important on his mind, but it’s gone now, vanished completely. Normally that would bother Tim, but somehow he’s content to let the knowledge go, as if that’s what he’s supposed to do, as if that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

He can chalk it up to whatever insanity convinced him to makeout with his new sort-of team-mate in the middle of a mission. 

Superboy scowls at the ground, and Tim resists the urge to sigh. He has to wonder if they’ll _ever_ be friends, because at times like this it seems impossible.

They could certainly never be anything more than that.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Bleeding Slow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/444864) by [FridaysChild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FridaysChild/pseuds/FridaysChild)




End file.
